


«Winterfell is yours, your Grace.»

by mademoiselle_k



Series: My Sansan S8 AU [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, got s8, got tv fic, sansan au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 13:05:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17560955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mademoiselle_k/pseuds/mademoiselle_k
Summary: Based after watching the «Winterfell is yours, your Grace.» Game of Thrones Season 8 trailer.





	«Winterfell is yours, your Grace.»

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AzraelGFG](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzraelGFG/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, Az!!

He saw Sansa Stark look at her feet while saying:

«Winterfell is yours, your Grace.» 

Sandor wanted to roar from laughter. Fortunately for him, he had learned in all his years guarding Cersei and her spawn to control his facial expression neutral to the point to seem expressionless. It was an important pre-requisite to working to the vipers' nest that was King’s Landing.

He had been surprised and kind of proud to see his Little Bird be toe to toe with the Mother of Dragons. ‘Save yourself some pain, girl, and give him what he wants.’ Did he have anything to do with the way she spoke to monarchs? Did she think Daenerys was another Joffrey? Who could blame her if she did? But her composure was not the one of a Little Bird in her cage. He felt like a fool. She had never been HIS little bird… She has always been unattainable to him; the betrothed of the crowned, the Princess in the North and now Lady Stark. Never his little bird.

The Lady of Winterfell hadn’t even looked at him. Brienne-of-fucking-Tarth, her damn Sworn Shield, was behind her not to understand the power play at present. The Wolf-Bitch was oblivious of him, bewildered by the presence of her half-brother Jon Snow.

The welcoming feast was not one he was used to. The Starks and Daenerys’ council had left the Great Hall early to speak of private and secret matters. He had no official status and thus was not privy to the information, who cared about his past experience. He was a deserter from the Blackwater Bay, an infamous traitor.

Amongst soldiers, in the Great Hall, he was also known as a white walker hunter and survivor. He had never been one to socialize but it felt good to be a part of… Something for once. They were all going to fight for their lives and the future of Westeros against foes already dead… or undead.

He was drunk, not from ale or dorninsh red for once but from this new brotherhood he was a part of. Never in his life would he think it would happen. He was always the outsider. Maybe his scars weren't so bad looking compared to an undead corpse. He scared himself with his ugly loud laugh. Maybe he was a little drunk. If anyone asked he would deny it of course.

He found the room that had been allocated to him, barred it when he had entered it. Tired, he let his head rest on the door.

«Sandor Clegane, I knew you’d come», said the little bird that had never been his.

**Author's Note:**

> I have some ideas for continuing this fic but due to my past record, I don't want to make promises. I will try to make them as self-contained as possible.
> 
> When the season starts I will try to integrate the new info in this fic but if I see it doesn't fit I will continue as I wish it... it is called Alternet Universe for a reason :p


End file.
